


11:11 ◦ Short Stories

by akabanechey



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akabanechey/pseuds/akabanechey
Summary: 11:11 is just a time on the digital clock, merely an urban belief that one should make a wish when the clock strikes 11:11.Albeit, it is considered a synchronous number and considered that energy flow is maximum in your body because you are able to connect with the numbers.© Chey Eveleigh | 2018





	1. 00 ◦ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ & ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ

**ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ**

This story was original posted on [animechey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/animechey/pseuds/animechey) on here, but I've decided to move all original works from there over to here.

 

**ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ**

11:11 is just a time on the digital clock, merely an urban belief that one should make a wish when the clock strikes 11:11.

Albeit, it is considered a synchronous number and considered that energy flow is maximum in your body because you are able to connect with the numbers.

© Chey Eveleigh | 2018

 

**ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ**

No parts of this story are to be reproduced, distributed, duplicated, copied, modified or adapted, in any way without my direct permission. Any and all characters or incidents that are similar to any other stories are completely accidental and done inadvertently.

If you have any concerns about this, feel free to send me a message, or leave a comment.

© Chey Eveleigh 2018


	2. 01 ◦ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ

**Word Count: 500**

**RIGHT.**

Left.

Right.

Right.

_Crap._

A scream left someone's lips and her head snaps in the direction of the noise. Her heart is beating a million miles an hour and she can feel her stomach drop every time a creak sounds. Even the wind made her jump.

It felt like a breath.

She turns her head back to the dimness in front of her and grips her blade tighter in her hand, her sweating hands making it hard to keep hold of the smooth handle. The ring around her thumb slides as she maneuvers her fingers and her heart stops as she almost drops it.

She can't drop it... Not again...

The screams still ring in her head from the last time she dropped it. The clatter had brought the beast down on them, and all but her had been slaughtered like animals. There had been no escape, not for them anyway.

She grips it as tight as the possibly can and hurries along the cobweb filled corridor, shadows jumping out at her at every footfall. A yowl sounds to her right and her heart skitters, her feet hitting the floor faster as she tries to outrun whatever is after her.

The blood splatters make her slide metres in front of her. It coats her legs and torso as she runs into a solid object and falls face first, sliding until she hits a wall. She struggles to her knees and her eyes go wide.

In the faint light she can make out the mutilated bodies of her schoolmates. Their faces are clawed beyond recognition and their internal organs are in small piles on the blood lathered floor, the blood still fresh and pouring from the gashes in their pale corpses.

_I'm next._

She staggers to her feet and freezes when she meets the glittering gold eyes of the beast. Her heart pounds ever faster and she almost drops the knife again, her fingers wrapping themselves around the tiny handle out of instinct.

Before she knows what is happening, the beast launches itself at her. She gets a quick glimpse of it in the faint moonlight before it's heavy body is on top of her, its hot breath hitting her throat and its razor sharp, gnashing teeth trying to rip her throat out.

Fresh blood begins to pool under her prone form and she realises that there are gashes in her gut, her organs being ripped out while she is still alive. A scream rips itself from her lungs for a split second before the teeth clamp themselves around her throat and rip it out.

_It's finally over._

Just as dark spots appear in her vision, she feels the beast climb off her. Her eyes make out the form changing shape until it resembles a humanoid form. She lets out a gurgle, knowing who it is. The form crouches next to her and grins, bloodstained teeth on show.

"Sleep now, Marissa. You'll wake soon."


	3. 02 ◦ ᴇɴᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴇxᴘᴀɴꜱᴇꜱ

**Word Count: 944**

**A/N: I wrote this for a practice creative for my HSC in 2018.**

**THE OCEAN. AN ULTRAMARINE**  expanse that barely touches the golden mass beneath. This is it in all its aesthetic beauty and undeniable magnitude. An expanse where any can go and discover themselves either lost or found at the helm of a three tier mast ship. Those who find themselves out on the expanse never return to land, and neither do those who find themselves lost.

I, myself have never dared to set a foot on a boat. My mother would never hear of it, but my father entices me each summer he returns from a trade across the endless waves. Exquisite treasures he brings home, drawing a delighted smile on my pale face - boxes that play music, shimmering gold and silver chains adorned with gemstones and twine, brightly coloured dresses made of the strangest fabric and in the strangest style. There's no end to the gifts.

Slipping off the ridiculously pinchy shoes I am forced to wear, and hiking up my dress, I move quickly to the water's edge, an excited, toothy grin adorning my face. The heated sand beneath my feet stings for but a moment, the coolness of the water lapping at the scorched areas of my bare feet. The feeling is indescribable, and there is nothing like it in the world. While bathing may be a relaxing experience, nothing can conquer the feeling that the ocean creates.

The sudden smoothness of some foreign matter brushing against my bare foot breaks me from my relaxation. My eyes open and look down at the water swirling around my feet. There, in the midst of it all, lies an old bottle. It appears to be a bottle that once held an alcoholic beverage, most likely rum. It stays wedged between my feet, the water battering it slightly, and I can feel the small barnacles that have begun to grow on the outside.

It is what I notice on the inside that captures my undivided attention. There appears to be a roll of parchment or such inside of it, and I haven't a clue why there would be. So, gathering my curiosity, I bend slightly to pick up the bottle, the coarseness of the bottle, from the time spent in the salty sea, scratching the soft pads of my fingers. I righten myself and hold the bottle in two hands, staring at the object within the glass with disbelief. It truly is a roll of parchment.

The bottle itself tells a journey of discovery. The barnacles and the sea stars that adorn the bottle make me smile. They travelled far to find this bottle; their new home. The small sprouts of coral on the bottle surprise me. I never knew that they could grow on glass. Still, the beginnings of these plants would have gone through dangerous situations in order to finally discover this bottle they now call their home.

The cork that once stopped anything from escaping or entering the bottle disintegrates in my very fingers as I attempt to pull it from the bottle. Dropping the remnants of cork to the sand, I upend the bottle. The parchment, surprisingly not damp, drops onto my palm with little hassle. The bottle soon follows the cork to the sand, and I am left with but the parchment itself, a small ribbon tied around the yellowed object to keep it shut.

Untying the ribbon, I unroll the parchment. Colour blooms in my vision and my mouth opens slightly in shock, my eyes flickering over the entirety of the parchment, as if unable to decide where to look first. Bright red stands out the most, and it makes my mind spin. Joy. Passion. Love. That is what this picture portrays. The face of the lady is different. It shows an infinite sadness and loneliness. Her deep eyes resonate a feeling within me. Recognition. I know this woman, but from where?

I rush from the water suddenly, my body moving before my mind can catch up with it. I know where I know her from! That thought forces me faster, slipping my feet into my shoes before running as fast as I can towards town. The beach and the memories it brings fade into the distance as my feet hit the cobblestone pavement, my mind spinning with shock and disbelief. The familiar house appears out of the morning fog and my chest tightens. What is she going say about my discovery?

"Mother!" I shove open the wooden door and rush into the sitting room, barely aware of the door slamming shut behind me. "Mother!"

Her deep eyes turn to me, brimming with annoyance. "Accalia, what have I told you? No running in the house. And no letting the doors slam!"

"But, mother, look at this!"

I thrust the yellowing parchment into her warm hands and then clasp mine in front of me, almost unable to contain my excitement. Her eyes stare at me for a moment, assessing my state, but her curiosity gets the best of her soon enough. She carefully unfurls the parchment and stares at it with widened eyes. They soon fill with tears and her bottom lip quivers.

"Mother, are you alright?"

She sniffles slightly. "Where did you find this?"

"In a bottle on the beach. Why? What is it?"

"It is a painting, Accalia. A painting of me when I was but a newcomer to society. Your uncle painted this."

"My uncle?"

"He was my first suitor. We loved each other, but, alas, it was not meant to be. Your father and I were to be engaged as an arranged marriage. Your uncle and I have never spoken since."


	4. 03 ◦ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴘᴀᴛʜꜱ

**Word Count: 490**

**A/N: I wrote this for a practice creative for my HSC in 2018.**

**"Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost." - Unknown**

**PINK. AN ENDLESS EXPANSE** of light baby pink that blankets the blood soaked battlefield. In the patches of ground without the calming colour, disturbing red takes its place and dominates the scene without pause. The sight is breathtaking; blood spattered cherry blossoms, and a serene emptiness and silence that hides the cries that, only moments before, filled the air.

Kunoichi merely sighs at the sight. It's become all too common to find places such as this in Japan. Wars erupt almost daily, and they take weeks to draw to a murderous and bloody close. There's nothing that can be done about these battles, but there is always an end to them - when the time is right, and when someone decides enough is enough.

A figure stands at the fringes of the battlefield, staring at the falling cherry blossoms. "Are you a friend or an enemy?"

Her eyes search the figure, taking in his dark hair and clothing, recognition flashing in her golden eyes. "I am your friend, Hajime. Do you not recognise me?"

"Kunoichi Yukimura, its has been a while."

"Don't be so cold."

Kunoichi rushes over to her lover and throws her arms around him, embracing the one she had been left behind by months ago when the wars began. A small chuckle escapes Hajime as her encompasses the young girl and holds her tightly, feeling her bury her face into the join of his neck and shoulder.

It feels different with him having shorter hair. The long, dark hair that seemed almost deep purple in the light has been cut back to his shoulders, hanging wildly around his blood spattered face. The traditional garb he once wore has been replaced with Western clothing, making him look more presentable and dangerous than before.

The emptiness that once filled his bright blue eyes is gone; a lively warmth and ferocity burning within them. It's a desire alight with the need to protect the one he loves; the fragile girl in his arms. She is the one person who broke down his barriers - not Souji, not Shinpachi, not Sanosuke, not Heisuke, not the silent Yamazaki. Only her.

Running his hands along Kunoichi's frame in search of injury, she spasms as he brushes her side. Instantly, he yanks her shirt from its place and drags it up, revealing a deep gash. It's laced with dried blood and surrounded by a bruise, but it is stitched together almost perfectly.

Hajime's voice is like ice when he speaks. "Kunoichi."

She shoves his hands away, tucking her shirt back into her male disguise. "I'm fine, Hajime. Don't panic. It's just a scratch compared to everything else I've had."

"Kunoichi."

"Just tell me something beautiful."

"Other than you?"

"Hajime."

"Alright. Sometimes beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost."

"Wow."

"That's you - my beautiful path. I was lost when I found you."


	5. 04 ◦ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ [1]

****Word Count: 1705** **

**THE STREETS ARE BATHED** in the final remainder of the life-giving sun, the shadows stretching for great distances. They grow larger by the minutes before vanishing as the fiery ball descends below the tall, spiraling buildings in the distance. As the light is all but vanquished, the monsters in the dark start to emerge to play, the night being their time to commit nefarious deeds.

Echoing through the empty night and borderline dilapidated houses, the sound of shoes slapping the pavement can be heard. Faint shouts accompany the sound, and so does the ragged breathing of the young girl they're chasing. The rouge samurai are unaware that the prey they're hunting is not a young male as they presume, but a young female of relatively high status. Such is the life of the adored daughter of a medical man.

The young girl throws herself around a corner, eyes going wide at the dead end in front of her. Spinning around, she draws her short sword and prepares herself for the inevitable confrontation. As soon as the first ronin appears, she launches at him, aiming directly for his abdomen. The blade hits its mark and she yanks the blade free, the rouge samurai dropping to the ground.

Before another ronin* can attack her, the end of a kaga kiyomitsu katana appears through the chest of the man before her. Behind her, another ronin lets out a cry of pain, causing her to turn. She finds a dark haired male staring at her with unnerving blue eyes. An arm slings around her shoulders and she looks up to see a pair of evergreen eyes staring down at her, bordering on amusement.

"Now, what exactly are you doing out here?" the second man asks, a smile bordering on sadistic gracing his face. "A little thing like you should be at home."

Kunoichi bristles at the demeaning words. "Are you suggesting that I cannot protect myself?"

"Not at all. Even Hajime-kun is impressed at a woman's ability to defend herself. I am not saying that to be cruel."

Before she can reply, 'Hajime-kun' speaks up. "That's enough, Souji. You will have to come with us, miss..?"

"Kunoichi," she supplies. "Kunoichi Yukimura."

"Very well, Yukimura-kun. Please follow me."

The dark haired male promptly turns and begins to walk into the night, leaving her alone with the evergreen-eyed man - Souji, she reminds herself. Not a moment later, Souji drops his arm from around her shoulders and motions for her to follow Hajime. Kunoichi barely spares the man a glance as she strides into the darkness, but she can feel his stare burning into her skin as he trails behind her.

It's not long before a highly decorated entry appears, as well as several more men standing beneath it. In the moonlight, one looks to be only Kunoichi's age, and that makes her lips part in shock. The remaining three men appear to be in their early to mid twenties, but looks may be deceiving. Their face remain emotionless as they lead Kunoichi into a building, and it causes discomfort to brew in the young girl.

Once they are seated, Hajime begins to speak. "Would you care to explain as to why you were out in the night?"

Kunoichi shifts uncomfortably under the stares, but nods. "I was out looking for my father, Kemuri Yukimura. It's been months since I've heard from him, and I began to worry. The capital is not a safe place."

The man with red hair frowns. "And yet a young girl like you is in the capital alone - at night too."

"Sanosuke," the man beside him says, placing a hand on his shoulder. A sigh leaves the red-haired man at the contact. "It's alright. As you can see, the young girl is alright."

"Wait. Kemuri Yukimura?" the youngest male asks in disbelief, eyes wide. "You're Kemuri-san's daughter?"

Kunoichi turns to the young male, eyes alight with hope. "Do you know where my father is?"

"Heisuke," the man from before admonishes.

"Shut it, Shinpachi," he retorts.

Before the two can start bickering, Hajime silences them by raising a hand. "Yukimura-kun, we are in the process of attempting to find Kemuri-san as well. We're willing to allow you to come with us. Are you willing?"

Kunoichi nods vehemently. "Of course!"

**• • •**

It's been months, and they've had no luck on discovering where her father is, but there are rumours that he was spotted in Edo**; his hometown. As the Edo Period*** faded and the Meiji Period**** became coloured in the blood of innocents fighting in a seemingly endless war, Western influence descended upon Japan. This made it more difficult to find her father.

The men who saved her many months ago, and have since become more like family than the friends they began as, have assimilated into society. Their long hair had been cut to just above their shoulders, and they replaced their traditional clothing with that of the Western influence. To stay with her friends, Kunoichi dressed in male style clothing, but she most certainly refused to cut off her hair. While their looks changed drastically, they did not change to the more modern weapons.

With a map spread atop the table before them, the seven of them follow Hajime's finger as he trails it along a path heading north. "Edo** is to the north of here, and it will take us only a handful of days to reach it."

Sanosuke huffs. "Let's hope this is the last one. We've scoured so many different parts of Japan chasing this man. I'm beginning to wonder if this is worth it."

"Sano-san," Heisuke exclaims, eyes wild. "You can't say stuff like that!"

Kunoichi laughs humorlessly. "It's quite alright, Heisuke-kun. He's not the only one thinking it. My father's been missing for a year."

Her comment silences all conversation for the remainder of the night, but worried glances are shared by the six men. Even Hajime and Yamazaki are showing their worry for their distressed friend, dropping their usual stone facades. Sanosuke and Shinpachi stay close to Kunoichi that night; a soundless comfort for their friend and each other.

Days merge into a week or more. The repetitive actions of walking, eating and sleeping become almost robotic over the course of travelling to Edo**. By the time the group reach their destination, emotions are all but extinct - even the jokesters of the seven are too worn out to do more than what is a necessity. The single thing that breaks them from their zombie-like state is the cry that leaves Kunoichi when she spots her father.

"Father," Kunoichi cries, barreling into a light haired man, clinging to him like he is going to disappear into thin air.

"Kunoichi." His voice is disbelieving and it causes Kunoichi's friends to tense at the undercurrent. "You're still alive."

"Of course I am."

"Kunoichi," Sanosuke calls, his voice deeper and causing his lisp to stand out more. "Step away from him."

It's more the tone in his voice that forces her to comply to Sanosuke's demands. She moves to his side and finally notices the anger on Kemuri's face, as well as the hand resting on his katana. The samurai around her are mirroring her father, but their anger is pure - they don't want to kill Kunoichi after all.

"You're supposed to be dead," Kemuri snarls angrily. "You and your wretched twin! Why are you both still living?"

Kunoichi's eyes widen in shock. "My twin? Father, what-"

"I'm not your father. Your parents are dead, as you both should be!"

Before any of them can respond, Kemuri draws his katana and goes straight for Kunoichi. He moves too fast for even Hajime to draw his katana, and all Kunoichi hears is her name being cried out, followed by a sharp cry of pain. She opens her eyes that instinctively forced themselves shut and instantly wishes she didn't.

"Heisuke," Kunoichi screams, watching as the katana leaves her friend's body and he stumbles. As he falls, she catches him and gently lowers him to the ground, cradling his head in her lap. "Heisuke, why?"

The young male feebly smiles. "It's all alright, Kunoichi. I'll be fine."

"Yukimura-kun," Yamazaki says, kneeling down beside them. "Let me take care of him. He'll be alright. I promise."

Kunoichi nods slowly and Yamazaki smiles. Shinpachi gently picks up his friend and follows Yamazaki into a house, leaving their distressed friend with Hajime, Sanosuke and Souji. She glares up at the man that raised her with tear-filled eyes, staggering to her feet and weakly drawing her short sword. Before anyone can act, a blade pierces straight through Kemuri's heart and then vanishes.

As his body falls, Kunoichi meets the almost red eyes of the man she loves, causing her to drop her short sword in shock. Beside him is a young male, and the resemblance to Kunoichi causes her newfound family to stare in shock. Deep brown eyes and light brown hair with streaks of blonde; Western style clothes. He appears to be not much taller than Kunoichi, and that fact is proven as the young male embraces his younger sister.

"Kunoichi," he breathes. "It's Kaoru. You're safe now. That monster can't hurt you anymore."

Although jubilant, Kunoichi forces herself out of the hug. "Kaoru, I need to speak to someone right now. Is that alright?"

"Of course. He's waiting for you, nii-chan."

Kunoichi smiles and turns to the blonde man that saved her life once again. All he does is smile and she runs into his arms, tears running freely down her face.

"Hey, little one."

"Chikage," Kunoichi murmurs. "You were gone so long."

Chikage chuckles. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be."

Sanosuke clears his throat, drawing their attention. "So, does this mean you're leaving, Kunoichi?"

Kunoichi pulls away from Chikage and faces the men she views as family. "I may be leaving for a while, but it won't be forever. I promise I'll come back to you - we all will."

 **• • •**   **• • •**  

*  _Ronin_  → In feudal Japan, it means a wandering samurai who had no lord or master.

**  _Edo_  → Current day Tokyo.

***  _Edo Period_  → 'The Great Peace' - from 1600 to 1868.

****  _Meiji Period_  → 1868 to 1912.


	6. 05 ◦ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʀɢᴜɴᴅʏ ꜰɪʀᴇꜱ [2]

**Word Count: 1532**

**THE BEGINNING OF THE**  Meiji Period*** was rough and bloody. Fights have already ravaged the landscape of Japan without mercy. The Boshin War**** of the past years, 1868 and 1869, has left scars on the land and the people. Families were torn apart, and not even the adopted daughter of a deceased medical man could escape it. She was ripped from the grips of her brother and her lover, and dragged into the safety of her people without ever seeing them again.

Kunoichi stares out over the endless ultramarine expanse, watching the sun dance across the waves and glittering like nothing she's ever seen before. The sand beneath her bare feet moulds around her skin, creating a grainy layer over the pale flesh. The sensation makes her smile and remember when her friends took her to the sea on their journey when they were trying to find the man she believed to be her father. That was a day that will forever be imprinted in her mind.

"Miss, we're leaving now," the captain calls, his voice echoing in the cool morning air. "Time to board."

"I'm coming, captain," Kunoichi replies, shoving her feet back into her boots and hurrying over to the ship. She scales the ladder and grasps the captain's rough hand, smiling as she climbs over the lip. "Thank you, captain."

"Call me Isami Kondou."

"Kondou-san, I told you that I am taken. Stop attempting to gain my affections."

Without waiting for a reply, Kunoichi stalks over to the other passengers, leaving a speechless captain behind. She catches a glimpse of a blond head, making her heart jump. Her hopes are dashed when the man turns, revealing brilliant blue eyes instead of the red-brown she yearns for. She turns from the man and continues on her way to the sleeping quarters where her belongings are.

Closing the door, she collapses onto the bed, her eyes stinging at the water accumulating in them. Her mind flashes with memories from before the Boshin War****; her friends - her family. The tears continue to build, but she doesn't allow them to fall. If she were to, they would not let up for hours.

**• • •**

Ten long days on the boat draw to an abrupt end. The ship shakes and people start to panic, screams and cries of shock leaving the passengers. Kunoichi merely sighs in annoyance and stands up, picking up her bag before walking out of her cabin. Once again she catches a flash of blond in the flurry of panicked people scrambling on the boat deck, but she instantly ignores it. She walks over to the nearest row boat and climbs over the ledge into the boat. Several more people follow her example until there's too many in the boat and they lower to the turbulent sea below.

A large wave sends the boat flying into the shore of an island. A series of screams erupt from the people being thrown onto the hard, compact sand, and Kunoichi feels her own scream escape her lips and burn her throat. Her hand tightens on the handle of her bag as air surrounds her for a few seconds. It cuts short as she hits the ground, her head smashing a hard surface and her entire vision becoming black.

• • •

The sound of men yelling causes Kunoichi to become alert to the world around her. Forcing her heavy eyes open and her sluggish body into an upright position, her brown eyes take in the sight of men in Western clothing heaving people up off the beach. When a pair of hands take hold of her, she panics and lashes out at the offender, earning a jab to the back of her head, disorientating her further.

Her head drops forward and all she can see is the harsh, unforgiving terrain moving quickly beneath her feet. She isn't sure how long they're walking for, but eventually the ground gives way to floorboards, and a voice orders her captors to "lock him in the room on the end". Floorboards fly past until she is all but thrown onto a wooden framed bed - and then the door clicks shut, a lock resounding in the silence.

Hours pass like days locked in that room and Kunoichi becomes restless, alternating between attempting to sleep, pacing around the relatively small room, and trying her best to get all the dried sand off her skin, her clothes and out of her messy hair. She gives up with the last one, tugging her nicked and scratched fingers through her brown hair until most of the knots are gone, and she leaves it out instead of pulling it back up into her usual ponytail.

It's not much later that the lock on the door clicks open, followed by the loud slam of the door colliding with the wall behind it, several people rushing into the room, attempting to yell over the top of each other. Kunoichi looks over to the group and sighs in exasperation, smiling and letting out a small laugh at their idiocy, having missed it all over the past months. Her laugh bewilders the men, but recognition floods two sets of eyes as they stare at her.

Heisuke flies forward and wraps her in a hug, laughing with delight. "Kunoichi!"

At the sound of her name, all the others - Sanosuke, Shinpachi and Souji - charge at her and Heisuke, pulling them both into a giant, bone-crushing hug, laughter echoing in the small room. In the middle of it all, Kunoichi finally allows herself to cry amidst her friends, relieved that they're all safe and alive. Looking over at Hajime, she smiles at the now short haired man through her tears, surprisingly earning a smile from the usually seemingly emotionless man.

They spend the next few hours wandering around the island Kunoichi now knows to be the Republic of Ezo to the north of Japan. She tells them of the days she spent apart from them all; the days she spent with Chikage and Kaoru, as well as the girl he fancied, Senhime. She tells them of how she was torn away from her husband and her twin; how she wasn't given a chance to fight like she wanted to. They, in turn, tell her of fighting in the Boshin War and everything that's happened over the past year or so; telling her of the death of Yamazaki and reducing her to tears.

Her sorrows are forgotten when she catches sight of a familiar dirty blond head and two brunette's by their side. Kunoichi speeds through the surviving members of the storm and into the bewildered male, his arms coming to hold her when he realises who she is. Chikage looks up when he hears the samurai coming up in front of them, and he gives them a thankful smile, as does Kaoru and Senhime. They relocate to somewhere more private to speak, and that's when everything comes out into the open.

"You were on the boat?" Kunoichi demands, absolutely livid right now. "What the hell, Chikage?"

Chikage gives her a pained smile. "I wasn't sure if it was you or not. You're dressed as a male, little one."

"You're worse than the ronin* from last year."

• • •

Weeks pass and the _Kaiyo Maru_ is built in order for them to gain an upper hand in the Boshin War, but it also signals the possible end to Kunoichi, Chikage, Kaoru and Senhime staying in Ezo. However, despite the samurai's concerns, she doesn't want to leave her friends behind for a second time and possibly never see them again. So, she and her family stay with her other family in Ezo, delighting absolutely everyone with her choice.

A year passes in what seems to be the blink of an eye and everyone is more than happy with what their lives have become. Kaoru and Senhime got engaged a few months back, and their wedding is only a few weeks away. Kunoichi, on the other hand, has a child - another already on the way - and her and Chikage are finally a real family. Hajime marries a beautiful woman by the name of Akane, Sanosuke and Shinpachi somehow manage to find themselves a set of twins and get married, and even Heisuke finds a decent girl to court.

However, the past year hasn't been all fun and games for the family. Tuberculosis sadly took Souji away from them, leaving his wife widowed and his child without a father to raise him. Everyone grieved the joking man for what seemed to be months, but Kunoichi knows that no one is ever going to be fully over losing such a major part of their family.

• • • • • •

* _Ronin_ → In feudal Japan, it means a wandering samurai who had no lord or master.

** _Edo_ → Current day Tokyo.

*** _Meiji Period_ → 1868 to 1912.

**** _Boshin War_ → 1868 to 1869.

***** _Ezo_ → Current day Hokkaido.

****** _'Kaiyo Maru'_ → One of Japan's first modern warships, a frigate powered by both sails and steam. Served in the Boshin War as part of the navy of the Tokugawa shogunate, and later as part of the navy of the Republic of Ezo.


	7. 06 ◦ ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴛ

**Word Count: 961**

**A/N: Same kind of story line as '** **Lie to Me ◦ Lashton** **'. I wrote this for a practice creative for my HSC in 2018.**

**THE WORLD HAS ALWAYS**  been strange to Michael and Ashton. They weren't what people called 'normal', and they were okay with that. Some would say that they were "dancing to a different beat", but there were those that despised the boys for who they were. Hateful glares and disgusting, harmful comments were thrown, but only one could weather the storm while the other drowned.

Michael and Ashton had been friends for years, but they were never really close until their later years of high school. Smiling to himself, a memory comes to life as Michael's fingers brush over a photo on the cupboard - a photo of the night they went out; the first night Ashton felt comfortable in his own skin.

**• • •**

Hazel eyes flicker over the room and Ashton swallows harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing at the forceful motion. He was afraid, but, with the amount of people in the club that are in the same boat as him, he knew that his fears were irrelevant. Green eyes glimmer up at him and the pale face of his best friend appears to glow with happiness as Ashton makes his way out onto the dance floor, steps hesitant. Although, the second a taller blond pulls him in for a dance, the curly haired boy relaxes.

Michael smiles softly at the sight. "I knew there was more to it."

You see, the green-haired boy figured out that his friend was a cross-dresser without a hassle, but he knew there was more behind Ashton's unwillingness to tell Michael his secrets. However, witnessing his best friend and the blond stranger on the dance floor, he has finally completed the puzzle that is Ashton. He is, undeniably, bisexual.

A few songs later, Ashton drags the blond over, causing Michael to get a good look at him. Dirty blond hair, blue-eyes of fire, lanky but still filled out and built, and a beautiful smile that appeared to light up the room and brought a reciprocated smile to the blue-haired boy's originally doubtful and hesitant face. It was in that moment Michael knew he would make Ashton happy.

After a long night, Ashton pulled out his phone and took a ridiculous selfie with Michael and the blond. The curly haired boy closed one eye and slightly stuck his tongue out through his teeth, making the classic 'rock' sign with his free hand. Luke stared at the camera with wide, icy blue eyes and pushed his lower lip out into a slight pout, one arm around Ashton's waist. Michael gave the camera an incredulous look, and then the photo was taken before he could change it.

"I'm so not taking another one," Ashton laughs at his pouting friend, and then looks down at the photo. The next day, he got it developed and framed, and then sat it on the cupboard.

**• • •**

The currently teal haired boy looks up as his broken house mate shuffles into the room, head low and bright eyes dull. His clothes are the same as over a week ago, and there is a sour odour wafting from his shattered being. Michael's brow creases in worry and he walks over to Luke, forcing the blond to meet his green eyes. The blond's eyes instantly fill with tears and he swallows harshly.

"It's been almost a year, Luke," Michael murmurs, a sickly feeling blossoming in his gut. "Ashton wouldn't want this."

Luke lets out a shuddering breath. "I can't help it, Mike. I just miss him so much."

"So do I. That crazy idiot. He was the bane of my existence some days, but he was still my best friend."

"Remember that one day in summer?"

Michael's eyes move over to another photo. This one has Ashton and the formerly blue-haired boy on the steps of the pool, both drenched from their idiocy. Luke follows Michael's gaze and smiles. That was the day he realised his boyfriend danced to a different beat. Unlike everyone else, the curly haired boy was not a sheep - he was the pariah, and a leader of his own.

**• • •**

"Mikey," Ashton sings, jumping on the shorter boy's back. "I wanna have some fun."

Michael grunts at the sudden weight, hands gripping at his friends' thighs to prevent him from falling. "Really, Ash? You didn't have enough fun jumping on my back, fat-ass?"

"Shut up. I'm not that heavy."

Grinning, Michael charges towards the pool, eliciting a startled screech from the boy on his back. Launching off the hot pavers a moment later, he lets out a 'whoop' as they plummet towards the chlorinated pool. Water envelopes them and they release each other, fighting their way to the surface. Breaking it, the two laugh and move over to the steps, Ashton sitting outside the pool and Michael sitting on the top step.

He pulls out his, somehow, undamaged phone from his pocket and takes a selfie of himself and Michael. They both grin like mad men as the shutter goes off, and the grins only grow as Luke's elated laugh echoes from the second storey balcony. Ashton snaps a sneaky photo of his boyfriend and sets it as his lock-screen, earning a chuckle from Michael.

The jubilance is broken by a derogatory comment and a scoff from their homophobic and transphobic neighbours. Ashton's grin falls and his hazel eyes fill with pain. Neither Michael nor Luke realised that the smile that vanished would be his last proper smile.

**• • •**

Michael swallows his tears away. "That was the day we started to lose him for the last time."

Luke licks his dry lips. "We should have seen the signs after all these years, but we were blind."


	8. 07 ◦ ɴᴏᴡ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ

**Word Count: 1012**

**A/N: I wrote this as a practice creative for my HSC in 2018.**

**ALLY CHUCKLES, EYES DRAWN** to her brother and her best friend wrapped in a warm embrace on the dance floor. The two haven't seen each other for years, so, when she got engaged, Ashton and Luke were at the top of her list, even above her's and Michael's parents. Yes, they shared parents for almost eight years. No, they're in no way related.

Michael's family weren't the best people, so they were...relieved of their son, and he was placed in the foster system. Due to a lack of living family members, Ally's mother ended up offering to foster him. The day she brought the eleven-year-old boy him, he and her daughter instantly clicked; they stuck together like two magnets, and there was never one without the other.

That lead to Ashton, her brother, coming out of his shell and befriending his foster brother. Which, in turn, lead to the entrance of Michael's best friend, Luke, into the twins' lives. The blond became close friends with Ally, but had a different kind of relationship with Ashton. It grew into something beautiful, but then it all changed when the inevitable came to pass - Luke moved.

Ashton receded back into his shell, and all Michael and Ally could do was watch. He didn't smile or laugh for the first two years, but, even after that, they were half forced and didn't reach his eyes. A year later, Ashton's hazel eyes regained some life, and he slowly ventured back out into the world. There he met Calum - the boy who became his friend and took his mind off the hole in his heart.

Little did the curly brunet know, Luke was in the same predicament. He begged Ally to keep it from Ashton, and, very reluctantly, she agreed to the terms laid out by the blond. However, it was not without a price: that he would be Michael's best man at his and Ally's wedding. The blond congratulated them and readily agreed.

Fast forward another year and it's the day of the wedding. Ally is being forced to wear make-up and have her currently black and teal hair on top of her head, twisting into an extravagant style, and Michael is a jittery mess, running his fingers through his neat, currently black, hair, disrupting the setting hair gel.

Minutes later, Ally steps up beside the young man she's loved since before they were eighteen and grins back at Luke and Ashton, who keep sending each other looks and brushing their fingers together. Throughout the service, Ally and Michael are torn between being enthralled by the person in front of them or marching over to their friends, grabbing them, and locking them in a room together.

By the time the service is over, the two have hold of the other's hand and don't plan on letting go any time soon. Beside them, Calum is grinning widely, both at Ally and Michael, and at Ashton and Luke. Everyone crowds around behind Ally as she turns her back to the congregation, and Ashton finds himself mixed in with them.

"Ready? Okay!" Ally flings her arms up, releasing the bouquet filled with white lilies. Quickly turning, her smile widens at the tanned fingers encasing the stems of the flowers. "There you go, Ash."

Ashton stares at the flowers with bewilderment, turning them in his grasp. He only held up his hand to stop them from hitting him in the face. Then it hits him - not the bouquet, but why it  _was_ going to hit him. No one had gone to catch the flowers. His hazel eyes flicker around at the smiling faces of his friends and family, realisation slamming into him like a steel wall as he meets Luke's glittering blue eyes.

Up at the altar, Michael and Ally smirk as the blond pulls their brother into a long awaited kiss. The congregation come alive with cheers and thundering claps. Moments later, Ashton and Luke pull away from each other, one blushing ferociously and the other smirking smugly. As the crowd disperses to head for lunch, Ally runs to the boys and grabs Luke's free hand, towing the two along behind her. Beside his wife, Michael flashes a grin at the boys before walking over to a table with five placement cards on it.

Calum looks up and smirks. "It's about damn time, you two."

Ashton sits down beside Luke, smiling in embarrassment. "Yeah, well, we have been apart for almost five years."

Luke nudges his now boyfriend. "I never gave up on us, Ash."

Michael rolls his eyes, earning a small whack on the arm from Ally. "You think this idiot forgot about you or gave up on you?"

Ashton flushes and hides his face in his younger boyfriend's shoulder, earning a laugh from his friends; his friend, his boyfriend, his foster brother, and his twin sister. He breaks out of his blush when lunch in placed in front of him, turning his focus on the plate instead of his family. Luke shakes his head in amusement and begins to eat his own food, Calum sending them a final smile before following suit.

Fast forward an hour, and the bridal dance is over, leaving everyone else to dance of their own volition. Currently, Luke and Ashton are wrapped in a warm embrace on the dance floor, Ally's eyes following as they gracefully move across the floor. Michael's green eyes move from his breathtaking bride to his two best friends staring at each other with pure adoration.

"Do you think they're going to do it?" Ally asks softly, smiling at her brother and her best friend.

"Hmm?" Michael asks, too caught up in the moment.

"Ash caught the bouquet. Do you think he and Luke will get married?"

"They would make a good married couple. I 'spose, now it's their turn to choose what they do."

"What do you mean?"

"We brought them together today, without their consent. So, if they want to get married, it's up to them this time."


	9. 08 ◦ ᴀꜱʏʟᴜᴍ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ

**Word Count: 879  
**

**A/N: So, this short story is an idea as to how I am going to bring Accalia back into my Valeska Saga over on[nogitsunechey](https://www.wattpad.com/user/nogitsunechey) when I get around to being able to update any of those books. It's also one of my many practice creatives for my HSC in 2018.**

**THE OLD ASYLUM STANDS**  proud and resolute in front of me. It's once unbroken and unbridled power no longer put to use once their more notorious and maniacal inmate escaped for the second time. The windows are somehow still intact - possibly because the rampant teenagers of this generation have heard the stories and are undoubtedly petrified of this place, and the inmates that were once kept here.

Some visitors to this spot will be aware that something has happened here in this asylum. And, even if that knowledge fades, this spot will still exude a faint charge of uncomprehended - possibly unnoticed - meaning. That is the sad truth of places in the history of this city - they are forgotten about when the generation that grew up with them fades away, leaving nothing to remember it by.

The one that escaped twice killed more people than anyone in the city dares to count, and the spread of madness throughout the once safe and homely city. That man is someone dear to me; someone who taught me how to survive through the hardships of life. He is my father, and there is nothing he wouldn't do for me, or me for him.

My father told me of my mother. A beautiful girl, he'd say with a rare sincere smile, but he wouldn't tell me much about her past. My guess is that it's too much for him to cope with. She left this city in search of something when she was young; when I was only about five or six years old, leaving my father to raise me. She took her best friend - my aunt, and my cousin's mother - with her.

They both left without a trace, but promised that they'd "return to this city for our children and our insane lovers". That was almost a decade ago, and, according to my father, they are to be returning to this god forsaken city of darkness and madness. The thought of seeing my mother again makes me giddy with excitement, and all negative thoughts about her flee my mind.

I don't turn as footsteps approach me, the gravel crunching and grinding beneath their shoes. They stop a few paces away from me and I finally turn around, instantly seeing the flaming red hair and lively evergreen eyes of my father. Beside him stands a familiar woman. Long brown curls cascade down her body and blue-green eyes graced with a sheen of tears watch me carefully.

My knees give out and she rushes forward with the speed and grace of an assassin, which si what she really is. Her arms encompass me in a tight hug and I instantly reciprocate, holding my mother as tightly as humanly possible, and then even tighter. Another pair of arms wrap around me, and, from the radiating warmth and familiar feeling, I know that it's my father.

The embrace doesn't last too long, my father being the first to pull away, my mother not too far behind. I wipe my eyes, and then, once my tears are gone, I instantly notice her scarred and broken body; dips and rises, and burns and gashes. They tell the story of an innocent child forced to grow up in a world of hatred and abuse. My father's eyes scan over my mother, darkening at the "newer" scars that have been added to the plethora of markings.

"You didn't tell me you got this badly hurt, little terror," my father growls, the anger in his voice barely restrained.

My mother rolls her eyes, playfully glaring at him. "You didn't exactly give me the chance to, ginger."

I cringe at the insinuation. "I get it's been a decade since you've been together, but did you have to do this  _now_?"

"Jerome has no tact or filter, and tends to kill first and ask questions later. His twin isn't exactly much different, and neither am I or Mandy, you're aunt."

My father waves his hand dismissively, green eyes staring at the asylum in front of us. "You aren't much different, Accalia."

Looking back over at the asylum where my father was incarcerated for several months over the span of two years, nostalgia creeps up on me. My mother says her head on my father's shoulder and he carelessly slings his arm around hers. They're like love-sick teenagers right now, and I have a feeling it's because they haven't seen each other since they were younger - around twenty-three and twenty-four, I think.

Visitors to this asylum will know that something has happened here - and that it changed the fate of this city. Even if that knowledge fades from the minds of those whose families weren't directly involved, this asylum will still exude a charge of uncomprehended - possibly unnoticed - meaning that will resonate in the hearts and subconscious' of the people in this god forsaken city. This city may forget the past it once had before my father, my mother, my uncle and my aunt, but they'll never forget what their future became due to the impact of my family.


	10. 09 ◦ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ

**Word Count: 917**

**A/N: So, this short story is another idea as to how I am going to bring Accalia back into my Valeska Saga over on[nogitsunechey](https://www.wattpad.com/user/nogitsunechey) when I get around to being able to update any of those books. It's also one of my many practice creatives for my HSC in 2018.  
**

**TIME IS RUNNING OUT.**

The world is dying; people are dying. It's inevitable.

My mother told me about a time when terror reigned in the streets and there was freedom for the city's inhabitants; where there was no right and no wrong. It was a time when my father had control of this city, my mother ruling by his side. Together they had freed the oppressed and caused the minorities to rise to meet the majorities - a world of equality. No one went hungry; no one was on the streets; no one was struggling with the addictions that got them through life.

The city's streets may have run red with blood, but there was never a time with a lower crime rate. Nobody was game enough to go against my mother and father, lest they end up painting the city with their blood. It was a dictatorship in many ways, but there was also a freedom that nothing else could provide. This caused the city to flourish and prosper under the rule and order of my family.

Then, my father was murdered. His time had run out.

I wasn't even born at that time - I was barely even conceived, and so, my mother exacted her revenge on her lover's killer - her own father - by cutting his time short. You see, the saying "an eye for an eye" can mean that a life can, and will, be taken for a life. Her father's death led to the demise of his faction within the city, and led to the rise of a stronger one.

My father's brother and his lover - my mother's friends - rose to power alongside her. At that time, my cousin wasn't even a thought in anyone's mind, and my mother wasn't even through her first term of pregnancy. They all fought to keep our city the way it was when my father was in control, but I think they all knew it was just wishful thinking. The era of terror was coming to curtain fall, and it was only a matter of time before my aunt and uncle took my parents' place to usher in a more deranged era.

Time passed. Months. A year. My mother raised me mostly on my own, but enlisted the help of her adoptive parents and her birth mother in order to still work and have a break. I don't blame her - I am a handful now, so I can only imagine me as a baby. By the time I turned six months old, rumours of a cult and the resurrection of my father began to surface from the underground if the city, beckoning my mother, my uncle and my aunt to investigate them.

They met the ringleader of the cult, and he claimed to have the equipment to jumpstart my father's heart after a year in cryofreeze. The time had come for this city to fill with the terror it once held. My mother was the only one that remotely believed him, much to her grief and annoyance. After that, they didn't speak for a while. More accurately, they didn't speak until the day the ringleader of the cult succeeded in reviving my father a few months later.

The night my father came back enticed those who had retreated into the shadows of this city to see the light of day once again. According to my mother, the era that had previously existed under my father's watchful rule had run its course ad no longer had time. The age that grew from this resurrection was complete chaos in a world of stability and time schedules.

By the time I turned six, my mother had to leave me and my father and my uncle, only taking her best friend - my aunt - with her. Neither of them had a choice - it was an order from the very top; from the mob boss that ruled over the city back then. Now, he's dead and his only daughter has taken over - along with the help of my mother's adoptive father, and his child with the daughter.

My father and his twin brother raised myself and my cousin themselves for almost a decade, with minimal help from my grandmothers. My mother's adoptive father wouldn't take any part in aiding a criminally insane and deranged murderer to raise their child. Honestly, if that's the case, he needed to have a closer look at his wife - as well as himself.

Time passed without fail. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, and eventually the day came that my father told me my mother was returning. Both my father and his brother were anxious as all hell to have their significant others back in their arms after almost a decade. My cousin was ecstatic to have her mother back. I should also mention that my mother's other friends - a criminal mastermind and a medical examiner turned murderer - and their children couldn't wait to see her.

Me? I walk away and leave them to their reunion.

The time for having a mother has passed, but I guess there never really was one considering that I barely remember her. I remember her blue-green eyes and long, curly chocolate hair, and I kind of remember innumerable scars criss-crossing her arms and legs in an assortment of shapes and sizes. Although, that could be my mind playing tricks on me.

Time is a cruel mistress, and now she's playing with my memories.


	11. 10 ◦ ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

**Word Count: 839**

**A/N: Same kind of story line as 'Lie to Me ◦ Lashton'. I wrote this for a practice creative for my HSC in 2018.  
**

**THE WOODEN BRIDGE BENEATH**

his feet shudders dangerously as someone walks across it, the handrail staying firm despite the quaking. Casting his cerulean eyes over the expanse before him, they pick up the small needles on the pine trees, the freshly strewn snow and the mist layered over the rising mountain in the distance. Beside him, his currently lilac haired best friend lets out a low whistle of amazement, green eyes flickering over the almost surreal scenery before their gaze.

"Let me tell you a story, Michael," Luke offers, eyes turning infinitely sad. "A story of a young man who lost his life because of the war he was fighting in this god forsaken world."

Michael's eyes snap from the scenery to the blond. "Luke..."

Luke ignores his eccentric friend and almost glares out at the multitude of the greens and whites and browns that reminded him so much of the one he loved and lost. Clenching his jaw and swallowing to force back the tears, the blond shudders out a breath as he grips the handrail of the bridge. Michael closes his eyes in acceptance once he recognises the look of resolve on his friends' face, sighing and turning so his side is resting against the handrail.

"Go ahead, Luke. Tell me a story."

"There was once a body who wanted nothing more than to fit in and be accepted for who he was - no matter his age, appearance, gender, or what he liked to wear. Despite that, he wanted to stand out from the rest of society and be a beacon of life and happiness and hope for everyone." Luke bites the inside of his lip to stop the tears. "He never made it. They drove him to his death because of what he liked to wear - and what gender he liked!

He was a happy teenager, and I regret not being there for him when he was discovering himself, but at least you were there, Mikey. You helped him when he needed it, and I probably only made things worse by only physically being there for him - not emotionally - until it was too late. We lost someone who could have changed the world, and there was nothing we could do. Absolutely fucking nothing!" He slams his fist into the handrail.

Michael wipes his tear-filled eyes. "He may not have changed the whole world, but he changed both our worlds."

"He was carefree and accepting of everyone, and he was unique - something this world is severely lacking in. This world didn't accept him back because of two things: one, he was gay, and two, he liked to wear feminine clothing." Luke lets out a choked sob and tilts forward, almost folding in on himself. "I lost my boyfriend because this world is wrong - discriminatory, racist, bullying, harassing, everything is wrong!"

Michael closes his eyes and feels his tears overflow, running down his face in torrents. He can't help the images that bombard him once the world is dark, and they bring more tears. His curly haired brunet best friend grinning down at him, clothed in a white blink-182 tee and a short, layered, black skirt, with a pair of red converse high-tops to finish the look. The formerly light pink haired boy was a mess that day, so his best friend had taken him out shopping for new clothes - buying his shorter friend a matching skirt and a black Nirvana tee.

Luke sobs brokenly, clutching the handrail of the wooden bridge so tightly it starts to splinter through his gloves. His curly haired, hazel eyed boyfriend comes to life inside his mind, and a small smile grows on the blond's face. The slightly shorter boyfriend skips into Luke's bedroom, clad in a pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and a Good Charlotte band tee that appears to be one of either Michael's or Luke's. He jumps onto the bed where his blond boyfriend is and grins down at him. Luke smiles up at him through watery eyes and hugs him tightly.

Opening their eyes, the memories fade and their visions are filled with the multitude of greens and whites and browns that cause stings of pain to cut through their paper thin skin to their broken hearts. Their friend now lives only in their memories and tears them apart from the inside out; making them build up walls to the world that took him away far too soon. Looking back on the last few days, the pain intensifies tenfold as they can now see the signs that should have alerted Luke and Michael to the curly haired, hazel eyed, Ashton's death.

They were too late.

All they have left are the memories and this place: the old wooden bridge, the expanse of green pine trees, the almost powdered crystal snow, and the mist layered over the rising mountain. This was Ashton's favourite place, and the least Michael and Luke can do is visit on his birthday, and on the day he died.


	12. 11 ◦ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟꜱ ᴡᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ

**Word Count: 2019**

**Hey, all.**

**So, I wrote this for my final assignment for my WRIT102 course at UNE. We have yet to get our results back for it, but I am hoping that I did well in it considering that I write a _lot_  of fiction/creative writing stories.**

**\- Chey xo -**

**◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦**

**THE DESCENT INTO THE**  darkness was subtle, honest and clear, but subtle all the same. Sometimes, to me, it felt like -  _still feels like_  - I was being hypnotised in some strange way and slowly began to lose myself; drowning in the dark depths of my mind and barely caring that my old self was fading away, only to be replaced by some kind of marionette. It's suffocating and tormenting, to say the least, but, strangely enough, it's... comforting being cocooned and nestled in the darkness. That darkness is a form of protection for me, a way of escaping the living hell that can come from being part of day-to-day life; the torment and belittling of those who once called themselves my "friends" and "trustworthy".

I became a different person and stopped doing everything that I once did. Sometimes there were small bursts of light where that old personality would surface and convince people that everything was alright with me, but, once it was gone, I was thrust back into the dark and twisting, nearly endless labyrinth of my mind. Warmth would shroud me for the first few lonely hours, but then the abandonment and regret would evidently sink in. Reveling in the darkness comes with its own harrowing events: delving further and further into the twisted, tortured depths of my mind meant that I slowly became reclusive and cut off from reality, burying myself in dark, twisted and malicious stories. They were an escape, but not for long.

For someone like me, becoming lost in the darkness was a simple and inevitable consequence of the life I'd been forced to live throughout the early years of my life. The darkness, as I've mentioned before, was a labyrinth of trees with endless paths, but, truth be told, I was not prepared for the disasters at the ends of any such paths. All I could really do was call out and cry for help, begging and screaming and pleading for anyone to realise that I was lost and suffering in a world that I had no idea whatsoever how to navigate - but no one ever did.

That is, they didn't realise until is was practically too late for them to do much to help me free myself for the maze I'd become trapped in.

Wild beasts stalked my every move through the darkening bush, waiting for the moment I would slip up and descend further into the panicked chaos that my mind became as my inability to find the light continued. I could hear their ragged breaths like an icy breath on the back of my sweat-laced neck, and that very sensation sent anxiety and fear, and even a little hope, battering against my already fragile psyche. The sounds of their footfalls against dried, fallen branches, twigs and leaves made me jumpy. It made my heart beat out an erratic, samba-like beat and further sweat coat my skin as my emotions and fears began to go haywire.

Some of the beasts pounced when they had the chance, tearing at my flesh and thirsty for the blood that rushed through my veins and kept me in this perpetual state of absolute panic. Despite them simply being rabid dingoes, in the darkness, my mind warped them into something akin to the Greek hellhound; a pet of the God of the Underworld, Hades. Their teeth warped into karambit knives and appeared to glint in the moonlight as they tore the soft skin of my inner arms, thighs and stomach, leaving lacerations bubbling with blood in their wake.

As they left me for dead, almost catatonic on the painful bush's floor, I found myself either hallucinating once again, or finally seeing someone in this god forsaken place. I'd seen them before, and I knew that, if I survived this, I would inevitably see them again one of these days. There's always been this, looming black figure, darker than the painful, tumultuousness of my mind, waiting just at the edges of my consciousness and lingering in my dreams, and this was the first time I was getting a true look at such a being.

Despite everyone's beliefs about such a creature: male, hooded, carrying a scythe, silent and intimidating, they were no such thing. In fact, they were merely a dark haired, and just as dark eyed, teenager. I could not tell you a gender if I tried; their voice was equal parts deep and high, their body equally lithe and feminine and bulky and masculine - a living, breathing contradiction of gender normality as we see it. True, they were wearing a dark hoodie and were somewhat silent, but they were in no way intimidating me. In fact, I'd go as far to say as though they were waiting to welcome me into the next life if I saw myself ready to leave this dark, labyrinthian bush and the world around it behind.

I was ready to go with them, but then the most cliche thing happened: I heard a voice calling to me, pleading for me to hold on and let them find me. Now, it was not just any voice, but the voice of the best friend I'd unfortunately began to love above all else.

He was one of the only people who wasn't drawn into the chaos and maliciousness of my darkness; trapped in the labyrinthian bush with me but are able to get themselves out with such ease it astounded me. However, despite them escaping my bush labyrinth, they cannot escape theirs without me helping them - which leads to me taking on their problems; having to lead them out of their darkness whilst I am still stuck in mine.

That never happened with him.

Instead we both began to take each others chaos upon ourselves and heal those broken parts within ourselves. Hearing him calling for me was enough to force myself to politely decline that teenager's reason for being by my side for the time being, and it gave me enough strength to climb to my feet and fight my way through the darkness despite the continual jeers of the voices in the darkness telling me that I was not good enough to get through that hell and back into the world we called home at that time.

The dark clothed teenager simply smiled their farewell and faded back into the edges of my consciousness and lingering in my dreams, waiting for the time to come when I would need them once again - this time to decide whether to give it yet another go, or to take their hand and leave all my pain behind. It would mean giving up on finding my way out of this bush and letting the animals tear my already damaged body to shreds; letting whatever remained of me in the end become a fertiliser for the darkening trees and all their inhabitants.

I could see the light from the bonfire in the distance, calling me back through the trees to the people who had been by my side the entire time, and, for once, I allowed myself to feel as though I could actually make it out. His voice was a guide alongside that light, and I grasped for it despite it feeling as though I were simply grasping for straws. He was the one I was going to live for, to get out of this utter hell for, and I was going to allow myself to be happy for once - even if it were only for a few moments until it inevitably came crashing down upon me once again.

Time passed where we were happy - where  _I_  was happy - and I allowed myself to remember what we'd been through together. He was there when my first relationship turned abusive; he was there through the countless break-ups and heartbreaks; he was there when I was accused of cheating when a mutual friend kissed me; he was there when the time came to end it for the final time; he was there when my second relationship ended because of a stupid misunderstanding; he was there when the third simply gave up on me.

Those were just the sad and hopeless times, but he was there for so much more.

The water fight in tenth grade in the backyard in high-school; the first school social he ever went to where we danced all night long; the birthday party he came to because I had no one else, and we played  _Twister_  and watched  _YouTube_  videos into the early hours of the morning; the warmth of his rare and comforting hugs; the laughter that made me smile and my stomach fill with butterflies; the random things he would talk about to keep my mind off the thoughts of being in the chaotic darkness.

That was the light I was heading towards through the dark, and it was the reason I'd declined that teenager's offer to go with them. This boy needed me, and I needed him. I couldn't just abandon him and succumb to my darkness when he still needed saving from his own.

Despite his voice still calling for me and telling me that he cared, the unavoidable came in the form of six words, and those simple, seemingly meaningless six words tore me to pieces. That single phrase allowed everything I'd built up - hopes, dreams, happiness - to be easily torn down in a single blow.

Along with such a heartless phrase, one of the few friends I'd found succumbed to his darkness and chose to take that very same teenager's hand, abandoning his desire to find his way back to the light of the bonfire where our friends and family awaited our returns. That drove a stake into my chest, as though my heart had been ripped from it, and it was followed by a painful blow to my solar plexus that left me gasping for air, as though my throat had been torn out and I was left dying once again.

I was struck down by a low hanging branch in the bush. The darkness came crashing back down, and it morphed my shattered heart into something inhuman and uncaring. The wild beasts of the Australian outback returned with a vengeance, and this time they wanted to finish the job they started so long ago. I couldn't find it in myself to care about such things, nor could I find the desire to fight against  _their_ bloodthirsty and carnal desires. In fact, I found myself agreeing with such things, which led to me becoming lost deeper in the labyrinthian bush, the light fading from view the further I drowned.

This time I felt ghost-like hands on my battered body, pulling me up from the harsh, unforgiving ground and turning me towards the destination. They were familiar - like that of a family member or a best friend - and I knew that I could not ignore hands and desires with such purity to them. Using trees as leverage and handrails, I limped through the darkening bush towards the small flicker of light, this time with no doubt in my mind that I could abandon him - or anyone for that matter - and that I was still needed to help save those I cared about from the same things I'd been through in my extremely short life.

With a flat phone and nobody to ask for directions, the sun slowly dipping behind the towering trees and the mountainous terrain is my only guide. The crunching of dried leaves and the snapping of small branches beneath my joggers eclipse those smaller sounds made by animals and possible dangers as I move faster through the trees. However, that is soon in the back of my mind as my eyes see light from our roaring bonfire glowing in the distance and the people standing around it. Hurrying over to them, I know that my adventuring is over for the day.

A smiling face could be seen in my mind's eye in that final stretch. It was of a boy with dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes, and that's what drove me.


End file.
